Hello!, Lassie
by Grigiocuore
Summary: From a prompt from Tumblr, "The first words your soulmate will say to you are tattoo'd on your body" In a world where the words marked on your body bring you to the one person meant for you, Carlton Lassiter is waiting exactly for it. Of course Gods had to make it hard. Shawn Spencer is the last thing he needs.


**Hello!, Lassie**

Carlton asked what the tattoo meant when he was five. He was a clever boy and a lonely one, and his mother knew he wouldn't give up before tiring her to death. She chuckled and knelt in front of him, hard hands smelling of soap.

-This, my boy, is a very precious thing. It's the Word. It is the very first thing your right person would say to you.- She brushed the vague line hidden by his shirt. –Keep it close. Carry it with pride, and one day, it will bring you to someone waiting for no one but you.-

-Someone for me?-

-Yes, Booker.-

Carlton had really liked it. He liked the idea of something to belong to. He liked the idea of having a mission only he could accomplish, a hole only he could fix. His personal crusade.

But of course the Gods had played with it, because the words tattooed on his chest was "Hello".

Yes, hello. Like what the grocery guy says you in the morning and the registered answer over call center lines. It was the most banal thing a person could say, and therefore it had become strange. The other kids laughed, never understood. Almost anyone through his life had greeted him with a "Hello" and so every time Carlton Lassiter had had to wonder if it was the right person, if he could try to say it, if it was the moment or it would just be dumb. He had hoped and loved way more than other humans, and consequently hurt more than any of them. O'Hara however had been a guarantee. On the first time they saw each other she'd stepped in the PD rest room while he stuffed himself with Lucky Charms, and had blabbered a "oh Hell sorry" before flashing away from his horrified face. That "oh Hell" had been the beginning of the only true thing that pulled him through a sea of friendly "hellos".

-Don't take it that bad. - O'Hara said, munching Mister Wu's spring rolls over his desk. -At least you didn't get something ridiculous. My Word is some geeky question about Pluto.- Blond eyebrows arched at him.

-At least it's original.- Carlton angrily forked a piece of glazed pork.

-You could suppose there is but one idiot in the world that would start a conversation like this. It's clear. Precise. It's what this crap is all about, no? Cut percentages, maximize efficiency?-

-It's not a Ikea manual, Carlton.- She said around a bite of roll. -It's, more like a hint. A bet. A push from the Gods.-

-I disapprove bets.-

-I know. But don't worry too much. You'll find your "hello". You deserve it.-

-I don't want it.-

-Liar.-

He looked at her, she inched closer to pick up a biscuit. It was their version of a bear hug.

-Geez, O'Hara. I never thought you to be so, _girly_.-

She kicked his calf with very girly pumps.

How could a human creature being so _stupid_?

Carlton gave a low growl for the fourth time, slapping the sticky thing away from his eyes. He marched along the precinct corridor, leather shoes squashing in glop. The rookies around stared but wisely chose not to ask why the Head Detective was soaked head to toe in fruit juice.

-Is he there, McNab?-

Buzz was actually struggling to keep his pace. -Ah, yes, sir.-

-You identified him?-

-Ah, yes, sir. Sha, Shawn Spencer.- McNab paused. -He said it was an accident.-

Lassiter's response was a full roar. -_The __Hell__ it was_.-

They were finally at the interrogation room. Room one, big, perfect for loud rants. Nice chairs to throw around. Carlton plunged through the doors head first. At the table was sitting a man with a lousy green shirt. The man grinned at him. -Hello!-

-You're an absurd rascal.- Lassiter growled, eyes burning wildly. That thing itched too, _dammit_.

-Oh. Ah. Okay. I suppose you were the guy with the Crown Vic, mh?-

-You think so?-

-Must say the smoothie-dripping jacket was a big hint.- The man did a very unconvincing grimace.-Listen, I swear, it has been a complete accident.-

-Accident?- Carlton felt the urge to shoot something. -You dropped a glass of disgusting yellowish iced blob on the car of a police officer, from the roof of a police department you were not allowed to. There is no damn way for this to be an accident.-

-Well, I didn't drop it. It slipped. And it's a pineapple smoothie, not a blob.-

-_Pineapple_?-he shrieked. -So that's why it itches so much?- Carlton tried to slap away some more juice, but it was too late. His eyes were _on fire_. Tomorrow he was going to look like a damn red-eyed rabbit.

-All right.- He put on his Ray-Bans. A lump of pulp skidded on the lens. - All, _right_. You have five seconds to explain me what the heck where you doing on that roof.-

-Well, I was helping you, actually. I had a suspicion the Garth affair involves some of the maintenance guys of the precinct, and the roof was the best spot to check.-

-How do you know about the Garth affair? It's strict police business.-

-Uh, that's a boring story.- The twerp waved it away with nonchalance. -Wanna know how to take off pineapple smell? If you don't you prefer flavored suits.-

-Quit these senseless shenanigans right away.-

-Shenanigans?- He snorted.-Wow. You caught me with that rascal, but that's a nice touch too.-

Lassiter's hands clutched the desk to white-knuckle point. He noted only then that the twerp was not a boy but a man, _scruffy, long nose, dark eyes_, and that he kept smiling at him. It made Carlton even angrier. It made the guy smiling just a shade less.

-Listen, I'm sorry for having Smoothied you. Really.-

-Well, don't ever think this changes a thing. No pity. You're going to face the Chief.-

-Actually, I've already known her.-

Lassiter frowned behind sunglasses. -And why?-

The guy actually beamed.

-Because I'm the new psychic consultant of Santa Barbara PD.-

The day after two things happened. First, the man in Carlton's bathroom mirror watched him with the eyes of a peyote-addicted lab mouse, and after seeing O'Hara's horrified face when he got to the precinct with tear-covered cheeks he had to put on sunglasses to correct reports too.

Second, the Chief welcomed him and O'Hara with a plastic grin and the announcement that indeed Mr. Shawn Spencer and Mr. Burton Guster were the newest consultant of Santa Barbara PD, and the plastic smile managed to turn threatening as soon as Lassiter's mouth opened to protest. Or to scream inarticulate growls, he wasn't sure.

Well, no. There were three things that happened actually. Because when Carlton stumped back to his desk on it were a little white pack of eye drops for sensitive eyes, and a card scratched on notebook paper.

_Take care of those blue headlights. Me._

Two out of the three things would remain. The eye drops worked, but Spencer and his equally unmanageable companion stayed and the gifts too. Little things, coming at two-weeks intervals/ one every two weeks, all magically appearing around his desk, all labeled with a scribbled note by Me. At some time detectives and rookies alike began to wait for it, stretching necks to sneak a peek before anyone. It became a precinct hobby. Bets were taken. _Who is Me? Woman, man, really Det. Lassiter swings that way? _

The gifts ranged wildly, a band-aid, raspberry chewing-gums, felt-pens, a ticket for a concert he had decided he was too old to go to, a Civil War pin. They all though seemed to arrive exactly when they were needed, usually before he himself knew it. Jules made big grins and didn't say anything. Carlton barked about professional code and unauthorized idiots roaming unnoticed around the precinct and then filed them all in the lower drawer of his desk, every scratched piece of paper tidily pinned by the corresponding gift, and began to think that maybe, sort of, it could, he could.

The evening Separation papers came in he went to Starbucks. It was not the first place he thought about and neither the second or the third, but it was the safest. O'Hara was away for a case with the idiots, he was too constantly surly for anyone to note the difference. But he didn't want to be his father. He wanted to be unhappy and angry in a very lucid way, not wasted, floating among ghosts. He didn't want that. He didn't want that.

Carlton lifted eyes from the napkin dispenser. A boy in Starbucks uniform hung over him with a mug of coffee on a tray. Near the coffee sat a messily wrapping of tissue paper.

-Here you are, mister.-

-I didn't order anything.-

-Ah, no, no mister. It's already paid. For the sad-looking cop, they said.-

Lassiter thought about throwing a tantrum over it right then and there, but instead he peered at the wrapping. Inside was a cupcake, all bursting with frosting, sugar sprinkles too. He snatched the card out of the waiter's hand.

_Not everything is sour in life. Not even you. Me._

Carlton sat back at his table. Did the littlest smile. Plunged half-face in the frosting.

Oh, wow, chocolate.

-Ehy Lassie-pants.-

Carlton growled. Usually the nicknames' complexity was directly proportional to Spencer's current silliness, and to his subsequent fury.

–What do you want Spencer?-

He was taking a pride in not looking up, so he could glimpse just the green shirt hem, a pair of tanned arms pushing against his desk. Tanned, twitching arms. Carlton was definitively not thinking it.

-No Spencer.-

-I haven't said anything yet, Lassie.-

-Ah. Oh. Whatever. So? Fussing over some of _my_ cases?-

-Ah, no, actually, nothing like that.- A pause. -I was just thinking, I can offer you lunch.-

-Lunch?-

-Yep. You know, that thing people do between paperwork to feed themselves.-

-Why should you offer me lunch?-

-Ah, no real reason.

He finally looked up. Shawn was smiling. Carlton brushed his shirt just over the heart.

-No.-

-Aw. _C'mon_, Lassie.-

-No. And go tormenting someone else.-

-But-

-_No_.-

Spencer sighed, but the smile didn't waver.

-All right-y. A coffee so?-

-No.-

-Too late. I'm going to get you one anyway.-

-What? No, no you can't.-

-Oh yes I can. Wait here, Lassie.-

-Spencer, get back here. Spencer.- The twerp was already half-way to the doors. -_Spencer_!-

Shawn waved at him with a big grin. Carlton roared. He grinned wider. Carlton shot on his feet, shaking a fist like a sledgehammer.

-You can't be nice without _my consent_!-

Jules finally stopped pretending to read her report. -Well, I think that's the strangest thing I've ever heard.-

With Victoria it had been an experiment since day one. She did say him the right words, and he did feel his heart skipping as soon as that gorgeous brunette hit on him at the police party, but his had been wrong. He discovered it two weeks after and by then it was too late. He screamed. She said she was sorry. She cried. I know, Carlton, I should have told you, but please we can try, stay together for a bit, as an experiment, just until the right one comes, oh please please, just until the right one comes. Of course he said yes. Families disapproved. They bought a house. Thought about a dog. Just an experiment, of course. But one night he found himself in bed, awake, hugging her, thinking that maybe it was a mistake, what if I'm the right one and the mark is lying, what if I could be the one for her even if I said the wrong words. And he should have believed it, because the day he got home and found the card on the fridge and nothing more his heart shattered like a grenade.

The pot stood proudly on the rec room table, with a scrawny mop of tiny white flowers pouring off dark gnarled branches. An ugly ribbon dangled around it with a yellow post-it. No one asked who it could be for.

-What's that thing?-

-A plant, I suppose.- O'Hara squinted at the card. -A heather one. _It's Irish, gruffy and stubborn. You won't manage to kill it. Me._-

-Fantastic. A stupid scrubby creeper. How funny.-

-If it's white, heather means protection. And wishes coming true.-

He let a non-compromising groan.

Jules cast him a glance. -You should give him a chance.-

-Him?-

-Yes, him, her.- She said fast. -However, seems like it's a good person. Maybe, the right one.-

-O'Hara, stop it.-

-Why not? There's been a lot of movement here. Lots of people said you hello.-

-In fact. It's flawed. It's too common a word.-

-But you are not a common man.- She replied. -Remember it's a two way street.-

-Ah, well, anyway, it doesn't mean a thing.- Lassiter dropped on a chair, crossing his legs. -I'm a detective, not some hormonal love-struck teenager. I'll ignore this crap as a whole. They don't mean a thing. They don't ever mean a thing.-

-Carlton-

-No, O'Hara. I played this game once, it was bad. I won't be fooled again.-

Air got icy as soon as he stopped talking. O'Hara kept silent for several moments.

-Okay.- She blurted out. -I've never said anything about it before, but this, is ridiculous.- Juliet knelt down in front of him. –Lassiter, you're a proud man, and my best friend, but if there is a thing I can't stand, it's people spitting in happiness's face just to prove a point. Beautiful things can happen to good people, but rarely more than once. If no one wants to fight for them, they're forever lost. So if you're not even going to try just because you're angry with the world, I'll kick you so hard you'll have a _real_ reason to sulk.-

She watched him with pale face, one hand clutching his knee, a quiet warning. She was almost angry. If he did it, she would probably never forgive him. She was serious, and it scared him someone knew him so well.

-It's not so easy, O'Hara.-

-You're doing a great job at making it harder, Carlton.-

Night routine was a thing of precision. Short warm shower, two minutes for toothbrush, check-out for beard signs, new pjs every three days. However that evening something got stuck. Carlton stopped before doing the pj shirt. He looked right in the mirror. Behind it was the tall teen that had left for Academy years ago, round face, too much hair on the chest, his father's eyes. The mark shone just above the heart, black, unconceivable, stark against skin. It itched a bit latest days. Carlton let a finger run along it, slowly, feeling every letter.

Hello.

He turned off the bathroom lights.

It had been stupid, that Carlton could admit. But it was hot, one of those days when Santa Barbara drips heat and he becomes acutely aware of his Celtic heritage, and the mark itched badly and the shop witness hadn't said them a single thing and that tormentor of Spencer couldn't stop _smiling_.

-C'mon, Lassie.-

Lassiter shut his notebook closed. -No.-

-There would be Gus and Jules too. And my father. It's a Police Barbecue. You're almost professionally bound to come.-

-Get lost Spencer.-

-Lassie-

-_Get lost_.-

Spencer's sigh rang even over the shop doors. -Can you tell me how can you keep a stick so up your ass all the time?-

-Stop it, Spencer. Stop with this little game of yours.-

-Little game?-

-Go.-

-Lassie.-

-Fine.- He slashed a hand around. - _Fine. _I go.-

He started fast for the crossroad. Spencer's sneakers thumped on the sidewalk behind him. -Lassie, c'mon.-

Of course Carlton didn't stop. He cast a glance at the traffic lights. Still red. Ah, damn it. He stepped down the sidewalk. -No.-

-Lassie.-

He walked across the road, feeling drops of sweat sticking to his eyes, behind the glasses. God, he was feeling dizzy. He would leave the twerp here. That's it. It was all O'Hara's fault. They would see. All of them, yes, fussing, judging, why they couldn't just.

-_Carlton_!-

He didn't see the SUV until it was three feet from him. Time slowed. Someone screaming. Shrieks of brakes. Carlton couldn't move. No, no. Run. No. Spencer. O'Hara. Run.

_Please._

He shut his eyes, because there was nothing else he could do, and then something clasped his arm and jerked back and Carlton's back hit hard on concrete. Air rushed out. Heart bumped against his ribs. He was not dead. Shawn's face flashed over him.

-Fuck, Lassie.- He was screaming. - Don't do it again! Don't _fucking_ do it again!-

Carlton blinked slowly, something pressing tight on his arms. The SUV had stopped two feet from them, a scared face crying from the window. He was on the sidewalk. The sunglasses had crashed nearby. He was not dead. He felt like throwing up.

He looked down at his arms. There were hands around them. Spencer's hands. And his face was not grinning, it was strange and ugly, a real face, breathing hard, eyes bulging.

-Don't ever do it_ again_, all right, never again. Fuck, Lassie, never again.-

-Spencer.-

-What?-

-Spencer.- Shawn's eyes were all wrong. Carlton blinked again. -Spencer, you're angry.-

-Fuck yeah.- He sniffed loudly. -Fuck yeah I am, Lassie.-

He was still grasping him. The grasp became a hold. Carlton let it happen. Someone was brushing his hair. He let it happen.

Shawn closed the rec room door behind him. Carlton just knew it was him, from the cadence of steps, a feeling in the air. He kept stacking documents he wasn't seeing.

-Lassie, we should talk.-

-No we shouldn't.-

-Please, stop with it. I'm not the responsible one. I don't know the rules.-

-Listen, I thank you for what you did yesterday, really. You save my life and the life of a police officer. Thanks. I owe you one. That's it.-

-It's not just that.-

-Yes it is.-

-Lassie-

-Spencer-

-It was me.-

Carlton turned slowly. -What?-

Spencer was standing in the middle of the room, gold light falling across his face. He took a step closer.

-It was me. _Me_, it was me. All the time.-

-This isn't funny.-

-I was courting you, Lass.-

-You're joking.-

-I'm not.-

-You are.-

-Dammit, Lassie.- He sighed. -How many people do you think would say "You're an absurd rascal" as a first thing?-

Lassiter stopped breathing. Spencer was tugging at the hem of his polo. He had it. He had his Word tattooed on his body. Waiting for no one but him. It was too much, way too close to the heart. He tried his hardest to get angry.

-So you. I. You.-

-Yes.-

-But so, why, why all this crap? Why flirting around with anyone? Why not telling it at once?-

-You know me. I'm an eccentric jerk. I thought it would have been cool to do all those things. Coddling you a bit. Spicing it up. And then, well, I had to study you before jumping in feet first.-

-_Study me?_-

-Oh crap, Lassie, that's not the point.- Shawn got even nearer.-The point is that now I'm standing here, feeling like a perfect dick, to ask you to jump in feet first with me.-

Carlton licked his lips. Looking for a smirk, anything, finding nothing.

-This isn't a game, Spencer. It isn't a game for me.-

-For me neither, Lassie.-

-It scares me.-

-To Hell, Lassie.- Shawn said. -But for the first time in all my life, I'm more scared I could be missing something amazing.-

Lassiter swallowed hard. -It was a Hello with an exclamation mark, right?-

-Sorry?-

-The first thing you said me. It was a Hello with an exclamation mark, right?-

-Of course it was, Lassie.-

Shawn smiled. He put a hand on his shirt, just above the heart. The line of letters felt through the fabric. The exclamation mark too.

-Hello!, Lassie.-


End file.
